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She made a face. “Really? My mother was a bit boho. Indie folk chick. At least that’s what Dad said. She died when I was ten, and I don’t remember that much. Well, this jacket, I remember this jacket.”
Ethan nodded. “It’s a good jacket. And it looks good on you.”
She felt a flush of pleasure. “Thanks.” Somehow, his reassuring words made her feel better. She felt herself relax a little.
“Ready then?”
She nodded and, picking up the keys on the little table, threw them to him. “You may as well drive.”
He caught the keys and nodded. “No problem.”
* * *
The hospital, when they arrived, was busy with staff and others intent on their various tasks and destinations, an almost stark reminder that life was continuing on, moving forward, that the seismic shift in her world created no obstacle for the rest of the world from functioning as normal. It could be seen as reassuring, and in a way it was, but the reality of the hospital for her only brought home the nature of her father’s condition, and her heart, which had been brought under control back at the house, now increased its pace.
As if sensing her anxiety, Ethan reached for her hand and squeezed it as they made their way to the elevators and pressed the button to summon it. The elevator doors opened, and Ethan, still holding her hand, led her on to it and selected the third floor. The idea of lucky number three passed through her mind and she wanted to label it the lie that it was. She dropped his hand, suddenly self-conscious and very aware of how good it felt.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded and looked away, suddenly knowing she needed to breathe deeply or she would be crying before she reached the third floor.
“Do you need any groceries, or anything?” Ethan asked. “We can stop by the supermarket on the way back. Maybe some grapes? Isn’t that what you bring sick people?”
“Grapes?” She asked him in disbelief. “Dad hates grapes.”
“Your dad hates grapes? Who hates grapes? Grapes are the boss.”
“The boss? Really?” She shook her head, amusement flowing through her. “Where did you pick up that phrase?”
He shrugged. “I pick up stuff. I’m cool. My bros are cool.”
She laughed. “Your bros are cool,” she mimicked. “See now, I’d expect this from Tom, because I know Tom is lame, but I thought you hung out in New York City. Not Mr. Roger’s neighborhood.”
He crossed his arms. “I stand on my coolness.”
The doors opened. Third floor. Ethan grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. “Come on. We’ll ask your dad for an impartial judgment.”
“My dad? Are you serious?”
She smiled at him, willing to play along with what was an overall lame exchange, let alone the words he used to affect a cool attitude. It helped. Stupid and silly as it was, it helped.
A nurse emerged from her father’s room when they reached the door. She smiled brightly at Ethan. “You can go on in. I was just doing a few things.”
“Has the doctor seen him this morning?” Ethan asked.
The nurse nodded, her gaze slowly taking in the rest of him. He’d put his ball cap on, and he was wearing his glasses, but that didn’t deter her flirtatious smile. “He’s around somewhere. Did you want to speak with him?”
Ethan glanced at Kate who nodded. “Yes, if he wouldn’t mind. Unless he’s spoken with Tom.”
“My brother, Tom,” Kate added.
The nurse looked over at her, tearing her eyes away from Ethan. “Oh, right. Frank Wilson’s son. No, the doctor hasn’t spoken to any of the family this morning, as far as I know.”
She left, giving Ethan lingering glances, but he ignored them, looking at Kate.
“You ready to go in?” he asked.
She nodded. It could be no worse than yesterday. Yesterday, when her father been hooked up to monitors and a drip, he looked so pasty lying in the bed. Even his voice had been weak, feeble, though the reassurances that he spoke tried to convey the opposite.
